


Mum, or The Lack Therof

by irregardlxss



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Gen, Sickfic, is the sister's name Daisy?, this could be awkward if it isn't, when will there ever not be explicit language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:51:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3413063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irregardlxss/pseuds/irregardlxss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy's home alone, sick, and Daisy's wailing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mum, or The Lack Therof

**Author's Note:**

> MY RESPONSE TO THE PATHETIC LACK OF GEN EGGSY ANGST ON THIS WEBSITE  
> I'm on tumblr and willing to YELL ABOUT THIS MOVIE TALK TO ME GUYS PLEASE (dinnerdatewithgreatness.tumblr.com)

The sobs are splitting Eggsy's skull open. 

 

He's just woken up, and is pretty sure his head would have been hurting anyways. His mouth tastes foul, and peeling his eyelids open took definite effort. Even if there wasn't howling just on the other side of the thin walls, he would have felt like shit. 

 

But Daisy continues to scream, and it fucking _hurts_. 

 

The kid is absolutely distraught. Her sobs bash their way through his head, and his breaths bash their way through his throat, and the raw _misery_ in his little sister's crying bashes its way into his heart, and the overall bashing just kind of swirls around inside him until he's so dizzy, bile begins to rise. 

 

He remembers that his mom's out, visiting some random ailing relative, and almost bursts into tears. 

 

Then, Dean and his mates start to go at it. Jeering. _Laughing_. Calling Daisy names. His baby sister is absolutely screaming, distraught, and those dickwipes do nothing but smirk about it? 

 

Emotions were a bad idea. Fury, plus the cacophony that the fuckholes outside his thin door are making, build up and blur his vision and all of a sudden the entire fucking world is reeling underneath him. 

 

He freezes. Tries not to puke. 

 

He only barely wins. 

 

Just as he finally gets his body under enough control to register time passing again, his front door slams. The noise level, thank fucking Jesus, drops a bit. 

 

It takes him a few seconds to realize that Dean just _left_. 

 

It takes a few more to notice that Daisy's going to start gagging if she cries any harder. 

 

It's an effort even to peel his quilt off, and the air that hits him sets him trembling. Fever, then. Shit. He grits his teeth and slowly levers himself upright. The only thing keeping him moving through his head's mad spinning is the steadily increasing desperation of Daisy's sobs.

 

Through some kind of fucking miracle, he stumbles his way to his sister's crib. The railing takes pretty much all of his weight - he practically keels over into it. His side'll probably have a bruise later. Daisy's sitting up, face scarily scrunched together. It's, like, _thirty_ times redder than the pyjamas she’s wearing - the only cheap pair they could find lay time they went shopping. They’re red. With fire trucks. He's lightheaded enough that it take a moment to process. 

 

When he doesn't do anything, Daisy yells harder, confused and alone and utterly miserable. 

 

_Fuck._

 

"Hey," he manages. 

 

He can't even hear himself over her. 

 

"Daisy! Hey."

 

Still nothing. Gritting his teeth against the swooping in his stomach, he leans down to pick her up. She's small and sticky and warm against his bare chest, muscles taut and shaking with the force of her tantrum.

 

"Shhhh," he rasps. He bounces her up and down, forcing nonsense words past his painfully scratchy throat. He has to prop himself up against her crib - the world spins.

 

Daisy abruptly decides she's had it with his pathetic attempts at comforting her, and starts fucking _flailing_. A tiny foot hits him in the stomach, setting off the rush of nausea that he's been trying desperately to control. Shit.

 

He manages to get Daisy back into her crib on time. 

 

Throwing up sucks. Throwing up alone, on a cold floor, with your baby sister screaming right behind you, is fucking awful. He's shaking and his head is pounding and the floor is hard and swooping madly around him and he desperately wants to know what's making Daisy so miserable.

 

He _can’t fucking do anything_ , and it’s making him crazy.

 

He wants his mum. 

 

He doesn't want to admit it, but it's true. He misses having a _mum_. One who puts cool cloths on his forehead and rubs his back. One who can safely tell him she loves him. 

 

He’s spent his life trying to prove that he’s mature enough to get by on his own, but he _doesn’t want to anymore_.

 

He wants to be able to be a kid. He wants to be the one being taken care of. He wants to be _selfish_. 

 

But he can’t. 

 

His mom’s life has to be far more hellish than his, and she deserves any break she can get. Daisy just deserves a childhood.

 

So he sits back, wipes his mouth off, and goes to calm his baby sister down.

If he doesn’t, no one else will.


End file.
